


Where The Corporeal and Poetry Meet

by Maleyah (Katherine_Kat)



Series: The Intersection 'Verse (SPN Kink Bingo 2020) [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Because fuck Cas being kicked out of The Bunker, Domestic Fluff, Idiots in Love, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Mal wrote a thing, Poetry, Soft Dom!Dean, Soft sub!Cas, human!Cas, s9 divergence, the human experience
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-28
Updated: 2020-01-28
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:00:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22452286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katherine_Kat/pseuds/Maleyah
Summary: Straddling him as they make out, Dean whispers the suggestion that night. He binds Castiel’s hands with his own tie, which spikes Castiel’s breathing. He’s sure that if he still possessed his grace, his eyes would light up the dimly lit room in pale blue. His eventual orgasm knocks the breath out of him and it takes a long time to come back down into the safe circle of Dean’s arms.They take it from there.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Series: The Intersection 'Verse (SPN Kink Bingo 2020) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1615579
Comments: 29
Kudos: 109
Collections: SPN Kink Bingo, SPN Kink Bingo 2020





	1. The Corporeal

Castiel asked for this. He knows he did, though sometimes he isn’t sure if Dean is really just doing this to help Castiel with this whole human experience. This particular part of it is a silent agreement in many ways, but it didn’t start out that way. After he fell and fended for himself for a while, Dean showed up one day. Practically carried him to The Bunker.

“This is your home, Cas. We’re your home.”

So he settled into his room with what little belongings he has. And just like that he is drawn into the human experience.

Sam and Dean teach him stuff, but their fields of expertise are about as wide apart as the brothers’ personalities. Sam teaches him about working out and the importance of healthy food. Dean undoes some of that work with his cooking preferences and taking Castiel out to various diners to figure out his palette.

Music is Dean’s prerogative. Books are presented to him by both brothers, though their taste varies. Sam suggests _Watership Down_ , while Dean lends him a few _Star Wars_ novels with a whole slew of background information that has his mind reeling. The bunnies’ story is greatly upsetting, so he isn’t sure why Sam is so fond of it. Not yet anyway. Perhaps he’ll understand after he finishes it. He is particularly taken with some of the poetry collections Dean has in his room. He peruses those while he’s in there, after Dean falls asleep while they’re watching Netflix. Sometimes they read bits to each other, when they’re both awake. Sam walked in on that once, which provoked an expression on his face that Castiel couldn’t read. He also simply back-pedalled back out of the room without a word. Dean shrugged when Castiel shot him a questioning look and they got back to their reading.

The comforts of bathrobes, warm slippers and soft blankets come to him easily enough. Dean runs him a hot bath after a particularly nasty hunt and shows him his collection of oils and bath bombs, which he keeps hidden really well. Again, Cas isn’t sure why, but he promises to keep his mouth shut when Dean asks him to. He takes a shine to regular, long, warm baths.

Sam helps him learn different languages, which he has a real knack for. In fact, it isn’t long before he speaks Spanish surprisingly fluently and he is moving on to Swedish. In the face of this, it becomes a collaboration with Sam rather than a teacher-student dynamic. Dean feeds them whenever they lose track of time, holed up studying, which is often enough.

Dean introduces him to the emotional whiplash of animated movies, the ones that make him feel wistful in a strange way he doesn’t quite understand yet. Sam takes him out to visit the library and gym, then shows him some of the cosiest coffee shops around town.

And then there was… The fact that somehow, along the way, he and Dean stumbled into something else entirely. Something very much part of the human experience, for sure. But they don’t talk about it, which often has Castiel wondering. They talk about most everything else. But Dean also told him that humans lie a lot. They aren’t lying per se, but perhaps remaining quiet about things is in the same vein.

Castiel’s curiosity is all over the board. And Dean is _right there_ more often than not. He always has been, but it’s different now, because Castiel’s senses seem heightened around him. As if compensating for his lack of grace, they extend outwards, ridiculously sensitive to Dean. His scent. The way he moves. His expressive face and the way his eyes soften whenever Castiel asks the umpteenth question about something human. His soul. Because despite losing his grace and no longer seeing Dean’s soul, Castiel finds it in the soft edges of him. The way he treats Castiel. How he cares for him and Sam. The world. It’s still there.

Castiel starts with closing the distance between them on the couch or the bed. On the diner bench. Or in Baby, if he can help it. A butterfly touch of a hand. A hand on a knee. Thigh to thigh. Shoulder to shoulder. Head on shoulder. Head in lap. Hand at a lower back. Dean allows all of it. He even reaches for Cas, carding his fingers through his hair and Cas closes his eyes every time, afraid his face will give him away. Because that seems to be what faces do. Except of course for Dean’s.

Their first kiss is another matter. He asks for that. After a cosy dinner in their by now favorite diner that has the best burgers and fries. Walking back to Baby in the warm night air, Dean’s leather coat tossed over his shoulder. His partly unbuttoned shirt diverting Castiel’s attention enormously, but his eyes keep going back to Dean’s face. His lips, specifically, which distracted him throughout dinner. So had his hands. His smile. The conversation took a turn towards love. Somehow. Whether it was him or Dean who nudged it that way, he can’t remember. Perhaps one of the poems led them there. The theoretical concept of it.

“How would you describe it then?” Castiel asks when Dean keeps looking sourly unsatisfied at their attempts to capture it.

Dean leans back, legs falling comfortably wide, his thumb circling the top of the bottle neck. Where his lips were seconds ago. His jaw works around the words he’s trying to form. His eyes skitter to Castiel regularly, as if his existence has any bearing on the matter he’s trying to figure out.

Castiel entwines his fingers under the table, because he wants to touch Dean again, but for some reason this feels important and he doesn’t want to disturb Dean’s thought process. He noticed that is also something that happens to humans. And whatever Dean comes up with, he doesn’t want him to forget and leave Castiel forever wondering what it was.

So he looks at him, cast in the warm glow reflecting off the wooden interior, lining him out in a bodily halo, contrasting with the red and black of his plaid. It catches on the hairs on his arms and dances in his eyes. Dean is gloriously beautiful to Castiel either way, but his human vessel seems to be exquisite even to human standards. It’s sufficiently mesmerising to occupy him as he waits. Castiel licks his lips reflexively when Dean licks his and that’s probably when the seed is planted.

“Probably of two minds there,” Dean says, his voice lower, drawing Castiel in. “On the one hand, it’s poetry. Lines of pure emotion, often more abstract than you’d like them until you let them sink into your bones and they make sense on a level where you don’t need words. Where the poetry carves out space for you and the other. Your lines echo and sync and mesh and blur. Sometimes you’re not sure whose lines were whose to begin with, but it doesn’t matter anymore.”

He blinks and smiles, giving Castiel one of those crooked smiles that never fails to make Castiel’s insides melt. “On the other hand… It is a corporeal experience. For me at least. Because it doesn’t have to be. Not everyone likes the same thing.” He frowns as he adds it, as if the thought upsets him.

“But for me… it’s grounding, unforgiving, a shameless exploring of each other’s taste, soft spots, likes and limits. Falling apart at someone else’s hands, trusting them to open up to them fully and vice versa. I mean it’s about trust either way, but there’s physical trust and there’s… many other kinds of trust. The corporeal is about what you want, like, want to do, want to feel, with who you want to do…”

Trailing off, Dean clears his throat, scratching at his scruff and wiping his fingers to the sides of his mouth. “For me, love is at the intersection where those meet.”

Castiel’s mouth is dry. He nods, at a loss for words momentarily, until Dean’s eyebrows quirk into a question, an uncertain touch to them.

“That sounds particularly intense,” Castiel offers hesitantly.

His eyebrows clearly go a long way to expressing some of his feelings as he watches Dean’s face split into a smile.

He laughs. “Oh, hell, it can be, but the best kind is when it’s both. Intense and… I dunno, domestic almost? I guess. You know I like to nest.”

Castiel smiles fondly as Dean asks for the check and they make their way out into the warm night air. Walking towards Baby, shoulder to shoulder with Dean, he angles towards him more. He swears he can feel Dean’s warmth seep through the shirt and his coat. His hand finds Dean’s how they have numerous times before. They come up to Baby, Dean searching for his keys.

“Dean?”

“Hmm?” Dean hums. He looks relaxed in the way he angles into Castiel instinctively. Castiel does the same, his heart skipping a few beats. They move so smoothly, it starts to feel as easy as breathing.

“Can we kiss?”

Dean stops in mid-search, Castiel following suit as his heart picks up an interesting pace. One that rushes through his veins, humming in his ears. He moves his fingers against Dean’s and he’s about to disengage as the silence lasts too long for comfort when he hears the hoarse response.

“Oh, fuck it,” Dean whispers, as he drops his jacket.

Dean tugs at his hand with more strength than Castiel expected, tilting him forward on the balls of his feet. A hand snakes into the hair at the back of his neck, another gripping tight on his lapel and then Dean’s lips find his. Warm and soft. A closed-lipped exploring of Castiel’s that sends a shiver down his spine. The scent of burger hits first, but soon a much stronger one envelops him, which is so wholly Dean, it overwhelms him.

Castiel moans at the jolts of pleasure sparking through him and pulls Dean flush to him by the waist. His hands slide under the hem of Dean’s shirt, finding warm skin and his lips part as he moans into the kiss. Which seems to be an invitation for Dean, because he slips his tongue in and Castiel thinks he might fall apart. Lights dance against his eyelids and he mimics Dean, when he angles his head. Dips deeper into Castiel’s mouth as he pushes him into Baby. The sudden move pushes some of the air out of him and he wraps himself around Dean fully. His hips move of their own accord and he groans louder when their dicks rub together.

He doesn’t quite know how long they kiss. All he knows, his knees feel wobbly and Dean’s shaking when they let go. Dean’s hands still frame his face, as they loosen their hold on each other. Almost reluctantly, Castiel feels. Hopes.

Dean doesn’t just look relaxed. He looks happy. And decidedly smug. Unable to be bothered by that, Castiel returns him a smile with a quirk of his eyebrow. It gets a blush out of Dean and he feels more whole, his body tingling pleasantly. Wordless, they get in Baby and drive home. Dean’s taste on his tongue lingers much longer than he thought possible.


	2. The Poetry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Still, Castiel’s curiosity finds fertile soil in Dean’s willingness to help him explore and learn. Porn is a logical next step in seeing what catches his fancy. It confuses him when it turns out that you can in fact watch porn in a room full of dudes. Well, two dudes. He doesn’t point out this inconsistency.
> 
> Which is how he learned about shibari. The beauty of it is what draws him in. He and Dean explore the concept online. It is far enough out of Dean’s comfort zone, they find themselves on equal footing. Dean insists he picks a safe word and his face does something strange when Castiel says “Impala” in a clear voice. He doesn’t believe he will need it, because he trusts Dean. Completely.

Castiel can’t get enough of kissing Dean and it seems Dean is in full agreement, judging by how often they get lost in it. In his bed, in Dean’s bed. In the couch. In Baby. Sam almost catches them on several occasions. There is more silence there between all three of them. But Castiel is okay with not talking about it, if it means they keep doing this.

Which is how one thing leads to another. Getting his hands under Dean’s shirt. Finding those soft spots Dean mentioned and oh, are there many of them. Castiel exploring them has glorious effects. Both on him and Dean. Finding out just how good Dean is at finding his. He never expected to squirm, but it happens. A lot. This shifts to giving Dean a hand job, relishing the weight of Dean’s dick in his hand. Receiving his own, which was short-lived, because he is so worked up. His first blow job from Dean, which he still replays in his head when he masturbates. Returning that favour still has him smirking up a proud storm, licking his lips at the memory. It makes dinnertime an interesting affair, when they catch each other zoning out. Or tease each other under the table.

There is more he wants. So badly. But there seems to be an invisible line they can’t cross.

Still, Castiel’s curiosity finds fertile soil in Dean’s willingness to help him explore and learn. Porn is a logical next step in seeing what catches his fancy. It confuses him when it turns out that you can in fact watch porn in a room full of dudes. Well, two dudes. He doesn’t point out this inconsistency.

Which is how he learned about shibari. The beauty of it is what draws him in. He and Dean explore the concept online. It is far enough out of Dean’s comfort zone, they find themselves on equal footing. Dean insists he picks a safe word and his face does something strange when Castiel says “Impala” in a clear voice. He doesn’t believe he will need it, because he trusts Dean. Completely.

Straddling him as they make out, Dean whispers the suggestion that night. He binds Castiel’s hands with his own tie, which spikes Castiel’s breathing. He’s sure that if he still possessed his grace, his eyes would light up the dimly lit room in pale blue. His eventual orgasm knocks the breath out of him and it takes a long time to come back down into the safe circle of Dean’s arms.

They take it from there.

Which is how he ends up here, tied up delightfully tight, the soft ropes they bought together digging into his flesh. His eyes are covered. His skin is tingling, his senses firing signals at a languid pace. For now. Like he’s slowly being pulled taut like a bow. He wonders what it will be like when Dean releases him… and his mind tilts over an edge he doesn’t see coming. Isn’t aware existed.

Dean’s voice is a near-to constant, filling his ears, hovering over his skin when he leans in. Reassuring. Praising.

He remembers what Dean said about love. About surrendering to someone. He moans softly when he feels the caress of the feather across his skin is replaced with the tease of leather. Dean’s belt? Yes, he remembers now. The tools they chose for his first time. _Their_ first time.

Castiel bucks into the mattress at the mere thought, his dick straining against the sheets.

“No movement, Cas. Not yet.”

The snap to his skin is sharp. Instant. The meaty part below his shoulder. Which can handle some punishment, but it still draws a whimper out of him and he focuses on keeping still.

“You’re doing so good, Cas, you’re gorgeous.”

His muscles tremble, persistent in their tension. His eyes squeeze shut of their own accord as the praise trickles over him. He breathes through his nose, out his mouth to calm himself down. A marginal success, as he becomes aware of the leather on his skin once more. He tenses up further.

Time slips out of his grasp, except in the chasm between each moment the leather connects with his skin. Unforgiving. Relentless. Loving. With each one, Castiel lets out sounds that change and shift. Synching up with Dean’s voice. From a whimper to a wail to a keen, until he is no longer aware of them as the tension leaves him and he surrenders to the throbbing ache. To Dean.

He fears it is too much. Or not enough, he thinks deliriously. His eyes fly open under the blindfold when realisation hits with the subtle impact of an anvil. It isn’t _enough_. He wants this and more. The poetry. The intersection. They’re already there, Castiel thinks, the realisation lighting up his brain like fireworks. He bites down on his lower lip when Dean’s lips make contact with his spine, his hair tickling between his shoulder blades. He keens as he arches into the touch, squeezing tears from under his eyelids.

“Cas, honey, you’re beautiful. So perfect under my hands.”

The term of endearment is too much.

“ _Impala_ ,” he says on a broken exhale, worried his voice might not be clear enough.

But Dean is listening for him. Of course he is. Immediately the pressure on his limbs is gone. The blindfold is removed, but for all that, he still sees blind, feels disoriented. He is vaguely aware of Dean’s warmth, as he sinks into a pool of feelings that’s at once welcoming and terrifying. Like he’s submerged into a warm bath, his senses dulled and intensified at the same time. Dean’s voice sounds warbled through it.

“Cas, are you okay?”

He wants to answer, because the worry that trickles through is intense, much like everything else he’s currently experiencing. But he can’t speak. His vision is distorted, like it’s being filtered through a kaleidoscope of rain drops. The light fractures through it beautifully, playing with the colours that make Dean’s aesthetic. The intense green of his eyes. The tan of his skin. The pink of his lips. The champagne of his hair. The gold that ties everything about him together like a perfect god from an ancient pantheon. Castiel’s nose is invaded by their shared scents so mercilessly, he can taste them.

He can tell he is being moved around. A warmth joins the experience of residing in this pool, but his horizon is skewed and he tilts with it. Into Dean. It is a slow emerging, the pool draining away around him. The swirling around his ankles takes a large part of the intensity with it and leaves a fatigue in its wake.

“Dean,” Castiel mutters.

“Holy shit, Cas, you’re okay,” Dean mutters, voice thick with worry.

Castiel opens his eyes and finds himself cradled against Dean’s chest, curled up between his legs. The softest blanket Dean possesses is draped around the both of them, piled high enough that it almost feels like a fortress. His body vibrates with a light buzz, pleasant enough in nature. It’s his mind that’s putting on a whole song and dance show.

“Cas?” Dean sounds uncertain and it tugs at his heart.

“Dean,” he says, trying to will the fact that he’s okay into his tone.

He can’t find many words besides Dean’s name. Gingerly, he moves within the circle of Dean’s arms so he can look at him. Dean’s expression is one of openness, eyes wide as they skitter across Castiel’s face, trying to read him. Dean lifts a hand to his face, thumb caressing his scruff and then he looks away, a familiar frown marring his forehead. Castiel instinctively recognises it as guilt. The crinkling of wrapping paper breaks the silence before Dean speaks.

“Eat something for a second, Cas. We can talk about it after.”

Castiel glowers at him, but the way Dean’s jaw sets has him acquiescing. He takes a piece of chocolate from the wrapping in Dean’s palm and lets it melt on his tongue. It’s the kind with a hint of honey. The taste erupts on his tongue, sliding down his throat slowly. He feels Dean’s eyes on him as he works his way through three more pieces, offering the next one to him.

Dean accepts the offer, handing him a bottle of juice in return. This goes down faster, when the thirst registers. Castiel becomes aware of a trembling deep within himself and frowns.

“You’ve been shaking since I loosened the ropes,” Dean says. “Less so now.”

Everything about Dean is uncharacteristically soft in this moment. Castiel finds himself leaning into it in search of more. He knows he has to speak and tries to see the words in front of him. The poetry. Their intersecting edges. When Dean plants a kiss to his temple, it’s like a tiny hatch opens between them and feelings pour freely from one to the other. They blend. Like words painted with their fingers. Dean’s fingers on his skin.

Castiel lets out a soft exhale. “Dean, I love you.”

Dean tenses around him, but in the disbelieving way, as he tries to pull Castiel closer still, which is nigh impossible. Vulnerable, green eyes fill his vision, their noses touching. Castiel inhales his scent and inches in, their lips brushing together. The way Dean responds to it eases his nerves and he finds more words in the wake of this relief.

“I don’t think it’s about the human experience anymore. Unless it’s about the ultimate one.”

Dean swallows, his tongue flicking out to lick his bottom lip.

“It’s about you, Dean, and I can’t pretend it’s just an experiment anymore. It want the intersection. I want all of it. I want you.”

“I love you, Cas.”

His voice is tight, determined in its declaration the way Dean is with everything he believes in. Castiel’s chest blooms when he hears it, the tension leaving him in one weight-lifting go. Warm hands cup his face and the next second Dean surges forward capturing his lips in a deep, claiming kiss, unlike any they shared so far. They lie down on the bed, wrapping around each other as closely as possible. The moment slides their trembling pieces into place like perfectly intersecting edges of the corporeal and poetry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No idea if these two will make a reappearance in this dynamic throughout the rest of the Bingo, but you'll know if they do.
> 
> Always happy to hear from you if this somehow touched you or made you smile or whatever.
> 
> Love,  
> Mal

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first square filled for my first SPN Kink Bingo. Kinda not sure what I got myself into, but this dungeon looks cosy.
> 
> Short and sweet with a sprinkle of Safe Word.
> 
> Come join fellow SPN/Destiel weirdo aficionados on [the Profound Bond Discord server](https://discord.gg/profoundbond)! Demons of a feather flock together <3
> 
> Feel free to let me know how you like it!  
> Love,  
> Mal


End file.
